Red Roan
by castiello
Summary: A fresh tragedy in Jane's life awakens ghosts of the past. Facing them means more pain, but also some redemption. Set in Season Two, between "Throwing Fire" and "Rose-Colored Glasses." Inspired by Chapter 15 of SpaceAnJL's wonderful "Scarlet Threads."


Disclaimer: I do not own the TV show "The Mentalist," nor do I own any of its characters. I do not make any profit from writing about them. Hey, every life has its disappointments… 

**Red Roan**

by

castiello 

"Diplomatic immunity?" Rigsby's loud protest drew glances from several agents in other units. "But, boss, he—"

Lisbon held up a hand, cutting him off. "I know, I know, I don't like it any more than the rest of you, but Kovich is off-limits. We don't bring him in, we don't go to his house, we don't even _call_ him. Until I hear otherwise, our hands are tied. Are we clear on that?"

Van Pelt dropped her head in disappointment. "Yes, ma'am," she said reluctantly.

Cho sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, we're clear," Rigsby muttered, giving the wastebasket next to his desk a nasty and completely unprovoked glare.

Lisbon threw a hard look past the three obviously frustrated members of her team, to the one who was barely paying attention. "_Jane?_"

The consultant's voice drifted faintly from behind the cover of a fat book of Sudoku puzzles. "I hear you…"

Lisbon nodded curtly. "Good. Now, I'm going to go call the Embassy again, try to make some headway. The rest of you, just keep digging – phone records, emails, bank statements – see if there's _anything_ we might've overlooked."

"We're on it," Van Pelt assured their boss, sitting down at once to attack the new challenge with fervor.

"I'll be in my office if you find anything," Lisbon told the group at large, before striding away.

Rigsby immediately turned to his remaining colleagues. "So, that's it, then? We're just going to let him get away with murder?"

"Looks like it," said Cho, his voice bordering on indifference. Only the slight hardness around his eyes hinted at his true feelings about the injustice. He picked up a file off of Van Pelt's desk and went to sit at his own.

Van Pelt took advantage of the apparently unobserved moment, reaching out to set her hand briefly on top of Rigsby's. "We'll find another way to get him," she promised, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze before slipping her hand away.

"Eh," said Jane, still from behind his puzzle book, "I don't think he did it."

Rigsby frowned at him. "How do you figure that?"

"It was a crime of passion. Where's his passion?"

"Kovich and Vanessa were lovers," Rigsby countered at once. "Her roommate confirmed it."

Van Pelt paused in her typing, looking back and forth between Rigsby and Jane. Even Cho had glanced up mildly from the receipts he was studying.

Jane closed the Sudoku book with a flop and sat forward on his couch, engaged now that he had a full audience. "There was definitely _some_ connection between Vanessa and Kovich. Sarabelle claimed that her roommate and Kovich were involved in a romantic relationship, but she was lying. Vanessa was gay."

It was Van Pelt's turn to frown at Jane. "How do you know that?"

"Ah, all it took was one look at – " Jane was cut off by his phone, trilling cheerfully inside his pocket. "Oh, excuse me - " He held up an index finger to his waiting colleagues "…Let me just…" Jane fished the cell out and held it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hi, I'm trying to reach a Mr. Patrick…Jane?" It was an unfamiliar male voice. Soft and hesitant. Distinctly unhappy.

"You've succeeded," Jane told the unknown man.

"Mr. Jane, this is Brian Burkin from the Cherry Hill Equestrian Centre."

"Oh." The lingering smile died from Jane's face. He stood up and moved toward the kitchenette, away from the watching eyes of the team. "Is there a problem?"

"Sir, I'm afraid your horse has been involved in a serious accident. We have a veterinarian with him now, but we'd like you to come as soon as possible."

"How bad is it?"

There was a very pregnant pause. "I…don't have all the details. But I can tell you that one of his legs is broken."

"Does he need to be put down?"

The man said nothing, and Jane knew.

"Look, if you need my permission to put the horse to sleep, you have it," Jane told him. "Just…do whatever needs to be done."

"I-I'm so sorry, sir, but the uh, veterinarian has asked to speak with you in person before any action is taken. And the stable manager would like to speak to you, as well – is there any way that you could come?"

Something like twin Swiss Army blades poked at Jane's temples. "Uh…I don't know if that's…" He rubbed at the pain. "Well, uh, all right, I guess…I guess I could be there in a few hours."

"Thank you, sir," said Burkin in a relieved rush, "we appreciate it. And, once again, I am so sorry for what's happened." The representative of Cherry Hill Equestrian Centre disconnected the call abruptly, his nasty tasks of breaking the news and getting Jane to come finally done with, like a Band-Aid slow-peeled from fuzzy skin.

Jane pocketed his cell and stood alone in the kitchenette, his left hand patting an anxious rhythm against his thigh.

After a few minutes, Cho leaned in the doorway. All traces of hardness had gone from his eyes.

"Everything all right?" the agent asked.

Jane stopped drumming his leg and forced a grin. "Yes, everything's fine. Is, uh, Lisbon still in her office?"

"Far as I know." Cho watched Jane carefully for a moment. "Do you want me to go get her?"

"No, that's all right, I'll just - " Jane made an awkward gesture in the direction of Lisbon's office and quickly started walking.

On the way there, he made sure to move in a wide arc around the spot where Rigsby and Van Pelt sat, now deep in discussion about the possible significance of the murder victim's sexuality.

Jane announced his presence outside Lisbon's open office door with a soft knock on the frame.

She barely glanced up from the mess of papers and manila files on her desk – just a quick flick of the eyes to see who it was – before gesturing him inside.

"What's up?" Lisbon asked, smearing the files sideways to get a better look at all the tabs. She plucked one folder from the right side of the desk and started leafing through it.

Jane opened his mouth…and then hesitated. The last time he'd asked for time off, he'd lied about the reason. He didn't want to lie now, but wasn't exactly hopping eager to share the truth, either.

After thirty seconds had passed with still no response, Lisbon finally looked up at him. Her green eyes were a perfectly brewed blend of curiosity and exasperation. "Jane?"

"I'm going to need the afternoon off," he announced, without preamble. That much was true. So far, so good.

Lisbon raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, something unexpected has come up." Also true. "I'm sorry…" Jane hoped that one of his rarely-uttered apologies might win him some leniency.

It looked like it might have worked – Lisbon's eyes softened. "Everything okay?" she asked, unknowingly mirroring Cho.

"Oh, yes. Just some personal business to take care of."

She studied him for one more moment before coming to her matter-of-fact decision: "Yeah. All right. Go ahead. It's not like we're getting anywhere on the case, anyway…" A tiny bit of annoyance bled through on this last remark, but it wasn't meant for Jane.

He gave his boss a nod of gratitude. "Thank you."

Jane started to leave, but Lisbon's sudden, sharp voice stopped him cold: "Wait! Hold it right there."

Jane turned back to blink inquisitively at her.

Lisbon's narrow eyes were glowing green coals. She scrutinized him with dark suspicion. "This is about Kovich, isn't it?"

Jane's own eyes stretched wide in innocence that, for once, was not feigned. "Uh, I can honestly say that no part of the conversation we just had pertained to Anton Kovich – the possible exception being your assertion that we are not making progress on the case. Which, I think if you talk to Rigsby and Van Pelt - "

"Don't try to feed me your crap," Lisbon interrupted. "This is the same thing that you pulled with Arlov – we can't touch Kovich officially, so you're going after him yourself. _Against_ my express orders." She stood up and started stalking her way around the desk. "What, are Cho and Rigsby going to come in here ten minutes after you leave, saying they have stomach flu and need the afternoon off? Are they in on this, too?"

Jane raised his hands in front of him, part "surrender"-gesture, part to ward off a possible physical assault. "Well, I can't speak for Cho and Rigsby, but my plans for the afternoon do not include a Romanian diplomat with questionable fashion sense."

"Then tell me why you're leaving," Lisbon insisted, without missing a beat. "The _real_ reason."

Jane hesitated. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. He looked down at his feet, and then back up at Lisbon.

Finally, he sighed, feeling weariness dragging at the features of his face. "My daughter's horse…it has a broken leg. The stable called, they want to speak with me before they euthanize it. Liability issues, I expect." Jane smiled faintly, a ghost of his usual one.

Lisbon deflated, looking chastised. "Oh," she said meekly. "Sorry…"

"No need for you to be."

"I just thought - " she tried again.

"You had every reason to think it," Jane assured her. His smile got a little brighter. "After all, I may have, on rare occasions in the past, acted in ways that appeared, at least superficially, to have gone against your express orders."

Lisbon's face twitched a little at this, and Jane could see all the things she wanted to say in response, plain as if he were reading her mind:

_May _have? On _rare_ occasions? _Appeared _to have gone against my orders?

Somehow, she held her tongue. The softness in her green eyes told him why, and Jane shifted uncomfortably, looking away and wishing he could shrug off pity as easily as he could a punch to the nose. "Well, I, uh, better be going…"

He started to leave again, and again, she called out after him – only this time, her voice was gentle:

"Wait…"

Jane turned back to look at her, and it was Lisbon's turn to shift awkwardly.

"Did you…want me to come with you?" she asked tentatively.

He smiled but shook his head. "No, that's not necessary. Thank you, though."

Lisbon nodded, and then—

"Hey, Jane? Thanks for being honest with me."

His smile softened. "Sure."

* * *

The drive to Cherry Hill Equestrian Centre took over two hours.

Jane left the radio off, his dark and winding thoughts playing a somber melody all their own.

His daughter's horse.

He'd rarely thought of it, in the years since her death. Had never once gone to see it.

The animal's feed and board paid for by automatic withdrawal from Jane's sole remaining bank account, he had retained ownership in name, and nothing else.

He should have just given the beast away, after she died. Should have presented it to some child who couldn't afford to buy one. A little girl who would sparkle and squeal at the sight of the creature, just like his own little girl had done.

But Jane hadn't been able to do it.

Funny thing, the way of grief – he couldn't go near the horse, and yet he couldn't get rid of it.

And now, he had to go kill it.

Jane heaved a sigh, and drove on.

He remembered buying the horse.

Not a pony, like he'd planned, but a "real" horse, because his daughter had insisted on it.

"_I want to be _tall_, Daddy! I want to be SKY high!"_

Jane remembered smiling at her.

He remembered the heat and the haze and the swirling dust, none of it bothering the little blonde girl who sat, tiny and beaming, atop her brand-new steed.

Only one dark spot, on that sun-soaked day. One moment when the grin had slipped from that round rosy face – a sharp metal clang, scoring the air, as the horse's leg banged against the edge of the trailer.

"_Is he all right, Daddy? Is he hurt?"_

The horse was fine.

The horse _wasn't_ fine…

Jane suddenly realized he'd been driving a little too fast. Lisbon would say "a lot too fast." And follow that up with an "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

He eased off the accelerator.

Jane remembered buying Lisbon her pony. It had been easier than he'd thought it would be. Hadn't tangled up his insides or dredged shadow-tinged memories from the depths of his heart the way Jane had expected.

Maybe because it had been a pony.

His daughter had never wanted a pony…

He'd reached the stable. Jane was driving slow, now. Crawling, creeping, inching along. His black tires crunched loud against chunks of white limestone.

The farther up the twisting drive he got, the lower the speedometer needle dipped.

Jane reached the parking lot almost in spite of himself.

Once-familiar buildings loomed before him, vivid red against the true blue sky, haunting him with ghosts of horse shows and riding lessons past.

But not everything matched the crystal images in his Memory Palace—

Cherry Hill Equestrian Centre had changed some, in the years since he'd seen it last.

Several new paddocks and training circles had been added, each fresh-painted fence a flashy chalk white. There were extra rows of stalls along the main barn, and neat grey shingles on all the roofs, replacing the older brown ones.

Upgrades.

More, bigger, better.

Jane climbed out of the car, his keen eyes roving the landscape. He recalled this area to be a place of hustle, bustle and lively shouts. Laughter and clip-clopping hooves.

But today, it was quiet. A lone palomino stood getting a bath about twenty yards to Jane's right, dark water stains creeping across its golden coat.

The splat of white lather against wet cement was loud in Jane's ears as he headed for the main office.

Halfway there, he spotted a teenage girl with long auburn hair leaning up against one of the new buildings, shaking with silent sobs.

Brown dirt smeared her sweaty pink cheeks, even as more tears sliced their way down through the grime.

She didn't look up as Jane passed. Just hugged herself, and cried even harder, obviously in some way at fault for the day's tragic events – or at least, _she_ thought she was.

Jane left her behind, and continued on to the office door.

Brian Burkin and the stable manager, a man named Slanek, were waiting inside.

Jane tried to keep the scene as brief as possible.

Everyone at Cherry Hill felt awful about what had happened – it was a terrible, unexpected, unforeseeable event. One of the unfortunate parts of owning and working with horses was that sometimes these types of accidents did occur, no matter how many precautions were taken. Hopefully, Mr. Jane understood this?

Jane did.

The stable would, of course, be happy to pay for any and all veterinary services rendered.

That would not be necessary.

The stable would be entirely willing to terminate the employment of the groom who had been responsible for the horse at the time of the accident, if that would help.

Jane thought of the auburn-haired girl sobbing outside. No, that would not help.

Finally, Jane flatly stated the magic words: "I'm not going to sue you" and offered to sign a waiver.

No, that was not necessary. Someone would take him to see his horse now.

Jane cringed at that label every time he heard it.

"Your horse."

The horse had never been his.

He declined Burkin's offer to escort him to the arena. It was still in the same place it had always been, and Jane walked there alone.

A few curious equine noses stretched toward him as he moved down the aisle.

On another day, Jane would've stopped to pet them.

He reached the end of the row and looked out across the dusty, dimly lit arena. At first glance, the wide space appeared empty. But then Jane took another step, his shoe sinking deep in old sawdust, and he saw his daughter's horse, lying flat on its side. A slow, labored rise and fall of its massive chest was the only detectable movement.

Jane froze at the sight of the prone animal, immediately regretting his decision to come here. The thing looked half-dead already.

A woman in a white lab coat was bent low over the animal's neck, speaking words Jane couldn't hear in gentle, hypnotic tones.

Her back was facing Jane, and she didn't seem to have heard him coming; Jane thought strongly of just turning and walking away.

But then the vet straightened up and looked over her shoulder, suddenly and inexplicably aware of him.

"Are you Mr. Jane?" she asked softly, her blue eyes somber.

He swallowed and answered, "Yes."

And at that one quiet word, the horse instantly swung its head up off the ground with a loud whinny, twisting its neck eagerly to get a look at Jane.

Something wretched and awful burgeoned inside of Jane's chest. The beast still knew him, even after all these years. Still recognized his voice…

The veterinarian motioned for Jane to come over, and his feet obeyed almost unwillingly, sending up small plumes of brown dust with each step.

He stopped a few feet away from the animal, on the opposite side, so the horse wouldn't have to keep turning its head to look at him.

The veterinarian stood up to greet Jane. Her blue jeans were blackened with dirt from the knees down, and her face was as streaked and soiled as that of the girl outside. The vet extended her hand, and they shook awkwardly over the horse's prone form.

"I'm Dr. Stern," the woman told him. "The stable called me as soon as the accident happened."

Jane looked at the limp blonde ponytail hanging beside her smudged face. The vet he'd originally hired to inspect the horse prior to purchase had been a man. Dr. Paulson. Jane was glad it was a different vet today. Dr. Paulson would know that this horse had belonged to a little girl with golden hair.

"I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances," Dr. Stern went on. She looked down at the horse again, and Jane followed suit.

The animal was lying flat again, its liquid-black eye fixed on Jane, blinking calmly. The rest of the horse's body was thickly caked with a combination of dirt and drying sweat. The muddy mess effectively cloaked the true color of the animal's coat – a mottled mix of white and chestnut hairs that Jane had never found particularly attractive.

His daughter had thought it beautiful.

"Cinnamon and ice cream," she would say, resting her cheek against the animal's sleek neck and closing her eyes. "Cinnamon and ice cream…"

Jane wondered what she would say now, if she could see the creature filthy and dying on the dusty arena floor.

He wondered if she would lay her cheek one last time against that mud-crusted neck.

He wondered what she would say to her father, who had never once gone to visit her beloved steed after she was gone. Had never come with carrots hidden away in vest pockets for eager grey lips to find. Had never even stopped by to run a comb through that long, tangled mane…

"_He _loves_ to be brushed, see Daddy?"_

Jane saw.

He saw a glint of sharp white and a deep splash of red along the horse's left rear leg.

Dr. Stern noticed where his eyes had fallen. "I've given him a general sedative," she said quickly, "as well as a strong local anesthetic. He's not in any pain…"

Jane wondered how anyone could presume to know whether or not another living creature was experiencing pain.

"How did it happen?" he asked, more just to say something than because he really wanted to know.

The vet sighed. "As I understand it, one of the stable hands – Jessie, I think her name is – was just giving him some exercise on the lunge line. He tried to turn in too sharp of a circle, wiped out, and when he slid, his leg went right through that gate – " Dr. Stern pointed, and Jane glanced over at a section of green metal fencing that was now collapsed against the wall. "He panicked and started to struggle, and by the time she got to him…" The veterinarian gestured sadly at the obviously-broken limb.

Jane felt the fresh ache of it like his own bone had torn through flesh.

If he'd given the horse away, it would have had a regular rider. It wouldn't have needed to be run in pointless circles for exercise. If he'd given the horse away, it wouldn't be dying right now…

"And there's nothing else…to be done?" Jane instantly wished he had not let the words escape. Dr. Stern looked at him with naked pity, and the regret stabbed deeper.

The doctor sighed again, this time almost wistfully. "In this case? No. There was a recent situation where a pony broke its leg and they were able to amputate and put on a prosthesis, but that was a front leg, not a hind. And, because it was a pony, its weight and height made the artificial limb viable. There hasn't yet been a prosthesis created that could bear the weight of a horse this size…"

"Ah," said Jane, a strange irony prickling inside of him. So, they might have been able to save a pony…

Dr. Stern watched Jane carefully, a pucker growing between her blonde eyebrows. "Listen, I hope you didn't feel pressured into coming here…I never meant to force you. It's just, I've had owners in the past who didn't come, and then later they told me they regretted it. Sometimes people underestimate the need to see the animal they loved one last time…"

Jane gazed out across the arena, his eyes distant.

"It's important to say goodbye…" he agreed quietly.

"You don't have to be here, when it actually happens," she told him.

Jane stared down at his little girl's dying pet.

He had never loved the horse.

But he had loved his daughter.

"I'll stay," he said gruffly, and carefully sank to his knees beside the animal's head.

Dr. Stern nodded. "Do you want a few minutes alone with him, before I…"

"No, that's all right."

The vet nodded again, and knelt down on the other side of the horse's neck. She looked across at Jane. "Okay, now, the way this works, there are two injections – the first one is just an anesthetic that will help him fall asleep. Once he is unconscious, I will give the second shot, which will stop his heart. He won't feel that one at all, or even be aware that anything is happening to him at that time."

Jane nodded his understanding vaguely, his eyes still on the horse, his hands hovering above the animal's sweaty mane, not quite able to touch.

"If you're ready," Dr. Stern began softly, "I'm going to give the first injection now. Okay?"

"Okay," Jane whispered, his voice suddenly hoarse.

The vet pulled out a bottle of clear fluid and squirted some on the lower part of the horse's neck, clarifying the outline of a vein. She slipped a syringe from her pocket and plucked the cap off with her teeth, then looked up at Jane, whose hands were still floating an inch above the prone animal.

"You can touch him and talk to him as much as you want right now, Mr. Jane. It won't hurt him, and he'll fall asleep knowing you're right here with him…"

"Okay…" Jane repeated. A ghost of a whisper, now.

For an instant more, he struggled, fighting some invisible demon, a phantom force that kept him from closing that final inch of space.

Then Jane broke through, and his fingertips brushed against horsehair that was hot and wet and dirty. He stroked the mane gently, and the horse whickered in soft pleasure at his touch.

"It's okay," Jane murmured, continuing to stroke.

A bright silver needle disappeared into grey skin. Crimson blood swam into the syringe, and then back out as the medication was flushed into the vein.

Jane petted the horse, over and over. "It's okay, it's okay…"

The horse's dark eye was still fixed on Jane, gentle and un-accusing. The lid started to droop…

_Last chance…_

Jane carefully leaned forward, until his cheek was pressed right against the animal's warm neck. He closed his eyes. "I'm here…I'm right here…"

The horse's breathing slowed and steadied. Soft whooshes, in and out.

"He's out," came the doctor's voice from above Jane's head.

He nodded, not lifting his face from the warmth of the horse.

"I'm going to give the second injection now."

Jane nodded again. He closed his eyes tighter. He could still feel and hear the horse's breath flowing in and out.

In…

"_I want to be _tall_, Daddy!"_

Out…

"_Is he all right, Daddy? Is he hurt?"_

In…

"_He _loves_ to be brushed…"_

Out…

"_Cinnamon and ice cream…"_

Jane waited. The next "in" did not come. The horse seemed to settle under Jane's cheek, something leaving the animal's body like a sigh, only not made of air.

There was a protracted stretch of silence. Maybe two minutes, maybe five.

Then finally Dr. Stern announced quietly, "He's gone…"

Jane opened his eyes, surprised to feel the burn of tears. He slowly raised his head off the dead horse's neck.

Dr. Stern was pulling the prongs of a gleaming gold stethoscope from her ears. She looked over at Jane kindly.

"Now, you may notice some movement over the next few minutes," the doctor warned. "He might shake or twitch or even look like he's breathing again, but don't let it frighten you. It's just a natural reaction of the body – he's not coming back to life."

Jane nodded sagely. "No," he agreed softly. "They can't come back."

After another minute of slipping various medical supplies back into her coat pockets, the veterinarian stood up.

Jane ran his hand across the dirty mane one final time, remembering what it looked like clean, with chubby little fingers tangled in it. Then he, too, climbed to his feet.

"So," Jane began, but had to stop and clear his throat when his voice came out wrong. He moved around the horse's body to stand next to the vet before trying to speak again. "How much do I owe you, for…?"

"It's only thirty-five, for euthanasia, but Mr. Slanek said he would take care of it…"

She trailed off as Jane withdrew a small wad of bills from his breast pocket, part of the cash he'd won from Rigsby earlier in the week. He handed her fifty dollars.

"Thank you," said the doctor quietly, accepting the money in her dirt-smudged hand. Her gaze wandered back onto the dead horse. "I'm so sorry about all this…I wish things like this didn't have to happen…"

"It's sad," Jane agreed, now wistful himself. He paused for a moment, considering, and then thrust out his own, equally dirty hand for her to shake. "Thank you," he told the vet, as they gripped one another tightly, "for making me come."

She smiled, faint but genuine. "You're welcome."

* * *

As Jane walked back down the row of stalls, away from the arena, he found a man waiting for him halfway down the aisle. Far enough away not to intrude on the privacy of the arena. Close enough to catch Jane before he left.

The man's name was Billy Waters, a local farmer who owned a backhoe. The stable had called him to remove the horse's remains. He would drag the animal's body from the arena and bury the horse at the back of the property, unless Jane would rather it be buried elsewhere.

Jane wouldn't rather it be buried anywhere but here.

Billy Waters did not want any money for his services. He just wanted to say how sorry he was for Jane's loss.

Jane shook the man's hand and gave him a hundred dollar bill before walking away.

Jane only saw one other person as he was leaving the equestrian centre. The auburn-haired girl was still leaning against the same cold, steel building, still crying as though she'd never stop.

Jane strode over to her. He stood right in front of the girl, eye-to-eye, and said what he needed to say:

"Jessie, what happened was not your fault…You should forgive yourself."

She stared at him with wide, leaking eyes, absorbing him as the breath caught inside her chest. Jessie gulped once, aborted a fresh sob, and managed to nod. "Th-thank you…"

Jane nodded back.

Five minutes later, he was driving away from Cherry Hill Equestrian Centre for the last time.

* * *

Jane drove for a long time.

He drove until he could swallow properly and no longer felt that sharp hitch every time he tried to breathe.

He drove until the needle on the gas gauge rested heavily above the glowing red "E."

Jane drove himself right into the dark, near-empty parking lot of the CBI Building.

He climbed out of the car stiffly, feeling every year of his age and then some, and headed for the office that housed the Serious Crimes Unit.

It was, predictably, dimly lit and deserted. Jane didn't bother to flick the lights on before shuffling over to his couch. A soft glow emanated from Lisbon's office – she often forgot to switch off her desk lamp – and it was more than enough to see by.

Jane sank onto a cloud of brown leather with a world-weary sigh, and closed his eyes.

The sound of approaching footsteps made him peel his eyes back open. Jane squinted through the semi-darkness.

Lisbon stood a few feet away, silhouetted by the light from her office.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Hey…"

Jane's eyes followed her as she walked over and sat down next to him. Once she was settled, he closed them again.

"You're here late," he commented.

"I had a lot of paperwork to catch up on…"

Jane looked over at her knowingly. "You waited for me."

Lisbon started to open her mouth, then frowned.

"I…_may_ have been waiting for you, _while_ I was catching up on my paperwork," she admitted grudgingly.

Jane smiled in triumph.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. Then her gaze slid onto Jane's knees, where dark dust from the arena still clung. She looked up at him with unmasked seriousness.

Jane's smile faded. He looked away.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Just the two of them, breathing in and out.

"What was its name?" Lisbon asked finally.

"Flame." Jane glanced over and saw something bright flare briefly in her green eyes. "It's from the _Black Stallion_ books," he added quickly, "which, of course, you already knew, having read the entire series at least…ah…" Jane paused an instant, studying her face carefully "…twelve times as a young girl."

Lisbon smiled and shrugged good-naturedly, for once not flustered by his supposed mind-reading. "Hey, they were good books."

"They are," Jane agreed softly. He held her eyes as long as he could before breaking contact.

Jane began to scan the empty office idly. After a moment, he spotted what looked like chunks of pineapple at the very top of Cho's over-filled wastebasket.

"You closed the case," Jane said matter-of-factly.

"We did," Lisbon confirmed, with a touch of pleasure. "Guess we're not _completely_ lost without you, are we?"

"It was the roommate, wasn't it?"

She didn't ask him how he knew. "Yup. Sarabelle Conner. She and the victim were lovers. Sarabelle found out that Vanessa was planning to break it off – she'd fallen in love with another woman. There was an argument, things got physical, and Vanessa was killed in the struggle."

"Crime of passion," said Jane wisely.

"Crime of passion," Lisbon agreed.

"And the connection, with Kovich?"

"He and Vanessa were working together to start a non-profit agency to help Americans interested in adopting Romanian children."

"Ah…" Jane tilted his head back against the cushion of the couch, reveling in understanding. "Kovich was an orphan, and Vanessa had an adopted sister. A cause close to both of their hearts…"

"You got it. He never had anything to do with the murder, that was all just a lie concocted by Sarabelle. Cho got the confession."

Jane smiled faintly, wishing for a moment that he could have seen his good friend Cho in action. But then the darkness of the day returned, eclipsing the thought, and silence drifted back over them.

Until Lisbon decided to speak up again:

"So, I was thinking of going to get something to eat."

Jane eyed her suspiciously. "You already had case-closed pizza," he accused.

"I didn't say I was getting dinner. _You_ can get dinner…" She smiled mischievously. "_I'm_ getting dessert."

Lisbon gave Jane's dusty knee a pat, and rose from the couch. "Come on – I'm buying." She held out a hand to help him up.

Jane considered her outstretched arm for a few seconds before stretching his own out to meet it.

"Well, how can I possibly refuse that offer?" he mused, allowing her to pull him off the couch.

"That's the spirit," Lisbon encouraged. She turned to lead the way through the maze of desks. "We can take my car…"

Jane followed after her, watching Lisbon's small, sturdy shoulders bob lightly as she strode along.

When she stopped to hold the office door open for him, Jane just had to smile.

Lisbon grinned back, a bright flash in the darkness, and some of the ache and weariness started to lift from Jane's shoulders, the eight hours' worth of nothing in his stomach suddenly making themselves known with a voracious growl.

Jane decided that, at this moment, dessert didn't sound too bad.

In fact, some vanilla ice cream with cinnamon sprinkled on top, sounded just beautiful.


End file.
